


The Night We Met

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actress!Hunith, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, First Meetings, Prince!Balinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 11:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: He glanced through the tinted window of his limousine and sighed wearily, wishing he could return to his suite at the hotel and relax for the evening. But missing the event wasn’t an option.





	The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittensTinyMittens (Onasariel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onasariel/gifts).



> This was supposed to be much longer, but between difficulties with sleeping and the recent passing of a friend requiring a mad sprint to the finish line before the funeral, I had to cut a lot of what I wanted to write out of this fic in order to get it finished in time. 
> 
> But I hope that doesn't detract from its charm!
> 
> I hope you like it, Ona. <3 
> 
> Hunith's outfit was based on one of the amazing designs by [Firefly Path](https://www.fireflypath.com/).

Balinor Armati ignored the head of his security; the elder man was a paranoid pessimist that hated formal functions and there were few functions more formal than the Met Gala. He glanced through the tinted window of his limousine and sighed wearily, wishing he could return to his suite at the hotel and relax for the evening. But missing the event wasn’t an option: his mother had suggested he attend quietly, but firmly, and he was certain she hoped someone might capture his interest. Balinor wouldn’t discount the possibility, but he wasn’t here to search for a potential bride.

The steps leading into the Metropolitan Museum of Art were bustling with people when the limousine glided to a stop. Countless news reporters were on the premises and there were a vast number of spectators at the perimeter. That wasn’t a surprise. Nothing drew a crowd quite like a gathering of the rich and famous.

The head of his security, Killian Murphy, muttered under his breath about treacherous locusts before popping the door open and climbing out. Balinor didn’t bother to track his movements — he’d had the length of his stride memorised since he was a boy, since he first started to venture outside the palace walls without his parents. He steeled himself for the spot light as Killian reached his side of the limousine and popped the door open.

A practiced smile slid into place as Balinor emerged.

Cameras began flashing immediately, the bright lights spanning the gathering in rapid succession. Between smartphones and professional photography, his image was captured from all angles. Balinor waved kindly, his smile growing more genuine as a few excited teenagers waved at him enthusiastically, star struck behind the barriers keeping the general populous from overrunning the red carpet. Far too easily, he could remember what that was like: he’d met Richard Harris once when he was a child and he’d almost died from the excitement. He’d met Dumbledore — the real one. Not the one that made him cringe whenever he saw him onscreen.

Balinor ignored the reporters waiting for him on the steps. He wandered over to the group of teenagers instead as Killian shut the door behind him and followed closely, his broad frame tense and his scarred face alert. Balinor grinned as one of them squeaked at the sight of him approaching.

“Hey,” Balinor said kindly, reaching for the photograph and sharpie clutched in shaking fingers. His smile softened as the girl in front released them. He glanced down at the photograph and chuckled at the sight of his own face frozen in the most ridiculous expression he’d ever seen. He signed it quickly, and drew a small winking face as he continued. “I’m glad to see some fans here. I was worried I’d be that loser no one recognised.”

The girl giggled and blushed brightly, delighted that he’d chosen her first. She welcomed the autographed photograph with eager hands. But she was soon jostled out of the way; her friends were eager to get closer to him in the hope that he’d speak to them and sign their merchandise as well.

A bespectacled girl was in front of him now. The first thing he noticed about the girl was the large crest painted on her round face. _His_ crest. The image took over her whole face and more — the silver dragon wings spread almost from ear to ear and the tail spiralled down to a point below her chin. Surrounding the silver dragon was a sea of deep blue.

It was unsettling.

Balinor wasn’t accustomed to seeing his own crest blinking at him and grinning almost maniacally; the frames of her glasses gleamed like knives. He reached for the photograph in her hands and froze when their fingers touched for an instant. He didn’t look at her as her breath quickened audibly; he signed the photograph as quick as possible and handed it back to her before turning, moving a foot or so to the side in order to engage with the other girls in the group. Part of him wanted to put some distance between them.

That part of him wasn’t surprised when he heard the girl say, “He touched me! I can’t believe I felt his sweat! I’m never washing this hand again!”

Balinor pasted a serene smile on his face upon hearing those comments and leaned closer to Killian. Honestly, it was fortunate that he had such an experienced guard to watch over him because he found himself murmuring softly, “Watch that girl for me. She sounds a bit…eccentric.”

“Eccentric? You’re being generous.”

“Mother raised me that way,” Balinor replied mildly, a hint of disapproval underscoring his words even as he smiled at the girls waiting for his attention. “Not all of us know how to regulate our emotions or interests.”

Killian grunted.

Balinor clapped him on the shoulder and returned his attention to the fans waiting for him. He couldn’t help smiling; their spirited enthusiasm was a balm after hearing those eccentric remarks. It was also infectious. He smiled at each new teenager warmly, taking a few moments to have a brief conversation with each of them as he signed their proffered photographs of him.

One of the teenagers even proffered his biography; a travesty, if he ever saw one.

Balinor didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble and tell her that most of the information in the text wasn’t even true. No one had interviewed him or members of his household to gain knowledge on the more private aspects of their lives when penning the biography; the author had bullshitted his way, but had inserted enough grains of truth into the text that most people didn’t pause to question it. Those who did were ignored. Balinor had seen such circumstances on the news with alarming frequency; sometimes he couldn’t help but think that confident and charismatic men had a magic of sorts and some chose to use that intrinsic power for their own wicked purposes.

 Balinor despised people like that. But he didn’t voice his thoughts on the subject. He didn’t mention the author or his falsified information. The girl was smiling so brightly, he didn’t want to see her upset. He just signed the book and handed it back with a soft smile before excusing himself and moving onwards. He chose his path carefully, doing his best to avoid speaking to the press as he interacted with the various common folk that came to see him. Honestly, dealing with the press was one of the things he hated most about the monarchy, but it was a small price compared to the warmth in his chest whenever he interacted with people like those excited teenagers.

That was what made his job worth doing.

Balinor wasn’t certain how long he’d spent interacting with his various fans. But it was a tiring experience nonetheless. No matter how much he liked seeing his fans happy, there was a familiar weariness threatening to weigh him down when he mounted the steps at last and disappeared into the Metropolitan Museum.

The blinding flashes of hundreds of cameras faded away; the cacophonous voices dimmed as the press and the sea of fans were left behind. Balinor couldn’t help feeling relieved that he no longer had to make an effort to ignore the press without making it seem like he was avoiding them on purpose. He wasn’t interested in being quizzed on who he was wearing. He didn’t care about those things. Honestly, he’d have worn a pair of jeans and a turtleneck if he could have. He’d preferred comfort to extravagance since he was a boy, but the press didn’t care about that. Nothing was more important to the press than the glamour of designer clothes and the cheap scandal of who was fucking who.

Balinor pushed those thoughts aside and let his gaze roam over the interior. He’d never been to the Metropolitan Museum before. Usually, his father was the one to attend the international events while his mother remained at the palace to oversee the welfare of their people. This was the first time he’d missed the Met Gala since he’d been crowned as the reigning prince. Unsurprisingly, the newspapers were rife with speculation about Prince Gabriel Baldassario Enrique Armati. Balinor was certain the reporters would be disappointed to discover his father had a mild case of the flu and was whining pitifully, while his mother searched for the strength to deal with his overdramatic ass.

Chuckling softly, Balinor took the time to admire the architecture around him. The stone columns supporting the structure were impressive and the arching ceiling was beautiful. But there was something magical about the soft lights twining around the columns and spanning the ceiling, pinned into place and twinkling like faeries in flight. Balinor turned on the spot as he tipped his head back and watched the space overhead swirl around him as an appreciative smile danced across his lips.

Slowly, Balinor came to a stop and let his equilibrium catch up to him. He released a slow breath as he steadied himself. He glanced towards the next set of doors — where the coordinators were overseeing event security, scanning ticket codes and validating identification against names on the guestlist. Visual recognition wasn’t enough. One couldn’t be too careful when countless members of the elite were gathered in one place. Not to mention countless items worth their own fortune. Glancing around surreptitiously, and hoping that eccentric girl hadn’t managed to outwit the security, Balinor headed for that doorway, Killian following close behind him.

As soon as Balinor made it through event security, someone from the event staff was assigned to escort him to his table. Balinor didn’t mind the escort. It saved him from having to search the tables to find his placement. Following along absently, he let his gaze roam the area as his escort led him past countless tables. He admired the twinkling lights stretching overhead and the banners that brought medieval antics to mind. Not to mention the intricate towers of candles dotted across the room — which added to the atmosphere. He admired the suits of armour that were derived straight from fantasy, some of which even included armoured wings and tails. He admired the magical staves and swords that brought some of his favourite films and television series to mind. Briefly, Balinor even paused to admire the detailing on several frozen sculptures along the way, glad to know he wasn’t a lone dragon.

His designer had deliberated over various themes before deciding to go with a link to his family, and so Balinor was wearing something draconian to the event. He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo. He was wearing something reminiscent of a catsuit and it cradled his frame like a second skin. It highlighted the strength of his arms and legs. Not to mention the breadth of his shoulders and torso.

Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth as Balinor remembered the receptionist at his hotel blushing, watching him stride across the lobby, her hand clamped around the phone in her hand and her lips parted. He remembered catching the gaze of her reflection in the shining surface of a vase as he walked by, after her attention flicked up from his backside. He’d winked at her reflection and she’d fumbled the phone in her grasp. He’d laughed as he’d walked out the door with his head of security, knowing he’d just made her evening and that she’d surf the euphoria for as long as possible.

Still thinking about that memory, Balinor continued to follow his escort. His costume shimmered whenever he moved. The shimmering hues danced across his body, drawing attention easily, but other aspects of his outfit kept their attention afterward. Twin horns had been secured to a headband and that headband had been placed on his head. Extensions had been placed carefully, concealing the headband from view. His designer had even given him a tail and a codpiece of larger plated scales. Honestly, that was the most embarrassing part of his costume. His tail swished with his steps and highlighted the shift of his backside. The plates were heavy, covering him in such a suggestive manner. Balinor was certain the fans were going to have a field day, doodling the most erotic drawings and penning the most erotic fictions possible.

His stomach clenched with discomfort.

Briefly, Balinor wondered whether he should have pushed for something else. It would have been easy, so easy, to come to the event as an elf. Something less ostentatious than what he was wearing now. Something less sexualised. Unfortunately, Balinor was also certain that his fans would sexualise him even if he’d been wearing a plastic bag and had food stuck in his hair. It was almost fascinating, how determined and creative his fans could be once an idea wriggled under their skin.

Balinor shook his head to dislodge the thought and continued to admire the passing décor until he reached his designated table at last. His escort excused herself and slipped away, leaving him to his own devices. Balinor almost snorted when he saw the table runner with several ends emerging from a focal point at the heart of the table. One end of the runner bore his crest and his initials. Several other crests circled the breadth of the table. There were no other means of marking their places at the table. Sighing, Balinor seated himself in front of his crest and couldn’t help wondering who the other crests belonged to.

Balinor leaned over to scrutinise the crest to his left for a moment. It depicted a wreath of green and golden oak leaves radiating out and then downwards from a helmet and gorget facing left and positioned above a banner. The banner was divided in three with gold running down the centre and green on either side. A large feline of some sort stood on its hindlegs at the heart of the banner and had its forelegs raised in preparation for a fight. It bared its teeth in a snarl as its tail curled behind its head. Frowning, Balinor leaned a fraction closer and turned his head in order to read the initials embroidered beneath the crest. The curling initials read: _H. O. H_.

Balinor was still scrutinising the crest when a shadow fell over him. He paused and turned his head to see a woman watching him. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. He straightened slowly, unable to stop himself from raking her with his gaze.

The woman was almost half a foot shorter than him and looked stunning, the lights twinkling behind her giving her an ethereal visage. The bodice of her gown began with a lace trimming, following the shape of her sweetheart neckline and reaching out to cradle her upper arms sweetly, her skin warm and soft against the white fabric. The white of her bodice continued downwards beautifully, narrowing at her waist before broadening again to encompass the gentle curves of her hips. White began fading into a soft pink that brought topaz to mind when the material reached her upper thighs. Bell sleeves made from a diaphanous material descended from the lace cradling her upper arms. A sash formed a belt where a glittering silver buckle brought the two ends together to cascade down the front of her gown.

Balinor swallowed thickly, his heart stuck in his throat. He moistened his lips as he dragged his gaze upwards at last. If her frame was stunning, her face threatened to steal the breath from his chest. Blue irises glittered like gemstones. Luscious brown locks were drawn back from her ears and braided down the back of her head. Prosthetics made her ears look soft and dainty, pointing high. A silver circlet had been placed delicately, its fine ends extending into silken tresses that could captivate a man with ease. Small stones of glittering pink topaz were woven into her tresses and one larger one graced the front piece of her circlet.

One shaped brow rose.

Balinor smiled sheepishly, forcing his heart back where it belonged. He rubbed one of his palms against the edge of the table to ground himself before rising from his chair and stepping around hers automatically, far too aware of the curious gaze following him. Raking him as he’d raked her earlier. Just the thought made his stomach twist with want. Balinor reached for the back of her chair and drew it back carefully, murmuring, “Please…allow me to assist.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” A note of amusement underscored her voice. A spark of warmth invaded the softness of her face as she stepped around the chair and lowered herself as the chair moved inwards behind her. “I do have hands.”

“Can’t help it.” His smile lost its sheepishness as he spoke. His fingers lingered at the back of her chair for a moment before Balinor slipped away, moving back toward his own chair. “Mother raised me this way,” he added quietly, a note of affection in his voice as he settled into his own chair and leaned toward his neighbour in a conspiratorial fashion. “We wouldn’t want to let her down.”

“No. We wouldn’t want that.” His neighbour smiled softly, glancing at him. She moistened her lips and drew his attention to her mouth in the process. She searched his face before adding, “I’m Hunith. Hunith O’Hara.”

“An unusual name.”

“I’m an unusual woman.”

“Undoubtedly,” Balinor answered quietly, his head tilting as he scrutinised her. He watched her glance at his crest and noticed the flicker of confusion. The corner of his mouth quirked in pleasure. It wasn’t often that he got to introduce himself. “I’m Balinor Armati.”

Hunith startled when she heard his name and flicked her attention toward his face before looking away, her soft smile morphing into an expression that mirrored his own sheepishness from earlier. Balinor watched the expression blossom across her face and couldn’t help admiring the apple of her cheek. It looked soft and rosy, kissable. His stomach twisted at the thought.

“I should have known.”

“Don’t be silly,” Balinor replied gently, the quirk of his lips blooming into a smile of his own. He snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and offered his thanks before adding, “Honestly, not being recognised for once was refreshing. You must know how that feels. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“You make a fair point.” Hunith chuckled warmly, reminding him of tinkling bells. She hesitated before accepting the flute he offered her and fingered the stem for a moment before sipping the champagne. Her nose wrinkled at the taste in an instant.  She coughed and spluttered as she set the flute aside quickly, almost toppling it over in the process. Balinor surged forward to stop it from falling and almost choked on his tongue when their fingers brushed and a spark shot through him. Both of them blushed vibrantly, ripping their hands away, blurting, “I’m sorry!”

Champagne spilled across the table.

“Shit.”

“Well. That was embarrassing,” Hunith muttered irritably, frowning down at the flute as though it had stabbed her in the back. But her frown cracked a moment later as her express grew wry, Hunith adding, “All that scrambling for nothing.”

“No kidding,” Balinor grumbled in reply, glancing at his neighbour as he rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel the blush rising to his ears. “I’m sorry; I should have asked before offering the champagne.”

“I could’ve declined.” Hunith shook her head and muttered a few curses. Balinor couldn’t help smiling. His neighbour cursed like a sailor. It amused and amazed him in the same breath. He hadn’t thought someone who looked so ethereal and innocent could have such a vulgar mouth. Hunith was a surprise. It left him wanting to get to know her better. “But I didn’t see the point in declining, since I’d never had champagne before. I figured there was no time like the present!”

“You’ve _never_ had champagne?”

“I didn’t grow up around this.” Hunith gestured vaguely, seeming distracted as she looked at something over his shoulder. A number of expressions flickered across her face before he could catalogue them. Eventually, Hunith focused on him again and offered another smile that made his breath catch. “I grew up on a farm in Ireland. Drinking champagne wasn’t on the agenda.”

Conversation continued like that between them as slowly, but surely, the other guests at their table began to take their place in front of their own crests. Balinor spared them brief greetings before growing fascinated with Hunith O’Hara all over again. He couldn’t help growing enamoured with her as time wore on and the ice of awkwardness melted between them. It was the first time he’d met someone that wasn’t afraid to snort with laughter or scratch herself in front of him. She wasn’t afraid to show her quirks in front of him.

Balinor admired that about her.

Ever since he was a boy, Balinor had been around people that were afraid to put a toe out of place while under the spotlight. Scratching, belching, and other signs of being a regular human being, were out of the question for those people. Hunith was a breath of fresh air in comparison.

The event was over before Balinor realised it. He wasn’t sure where the time went. It seemed hours had passed between taking his seat and offering his arm to Hunith as the pair of them meandered back through security, chatting about nothing at all and having the time of their lives in the process.

Balinor slowed to a stop a few feet from the exit and gathered soft hands in his for a moment. He ignored the head of his security, whose impatience was legendary, and smiled down at Hunith instead.

“I had a wonderful time tonight. I’m glad we were seated together.”

“Me too.” Hunith looked down at their joined hands and then glanced at him through her lashes. She seemed so soft and lovely, so inviting. It made his stomach twist with the urge to kiss her. Balinor, however, knew it was far too soon for something like that. Being seated together was a coincidence. He and Hunith weren’t dating, much as he’d like to be on her arm whenever he went out in the future. But he planned to change that as soon as possible. It seemed Hunith was on the same page as she went on to say, “I’d like to do this again. Not the gala. But spending time together!”

“I’d like that too.” Balinor grinned in delight. He squeezed her hands for a moment and added gently, “I wouldn’t mind tasting that gorse wine we spoke about a while ago. I could come visit?”

“I could use the company,” Hunith agreed warmly, answering his grin with one of her own. It brightened her whole face. It threatened to take his breath away, but Balinor tried to keep his attraction under control as Hunith continued speaking, her voice as soft and warm as heated caramel. His favourite. “I might invite a few people over and have a small dinner party; you’d be more than welcome to attend.”

“That sounds lovely, Hunith. I don’t think I’ve been to something small since I was a child.” Balinor couldn’t help chuckling, remembering all the state dinners he’d been dragged to when he was growing up. “Do I need to bring something?”

“Just the horns.” Hunith winked at him. “The tail is optional.”

Balinor blushed vibrantly, but didn’t have a chance to respond before she flounced away, leaving him adrift in his own embarrassed excitement. He watched her disappear through the large double doors amid a wave of flashing lights and couldn’t help sighing dreamily, his whole frame softening with happiness at the knowledge that he’d seen her again.

“You’re whipped.”

“Yeah. I mean...what?” Balinor snapped out of daze. Quickly, he turned his attention over to his head of security, who chortled as he approached. It was odd to see the paranoid man laughing, but Balinor couldn’t help bristling, embarrassed at having been caught staring after Hunith. “I’m not whipped. I’m…charmed. There _is_ a difference!”

Killian clapped him on the shoulder and continued walking, heading for the double doors. Frowning, Balinor darted after him and matched his pace quickly, the pair of them stepping out into another wave of flashing cameras together.

Hunith was almost to the end of the steps now.

Balinor almost tripped when she glanced over her shoulder discreetly, a smile tugging at her lips. The gemstones in her hair twinkled at him. Balinor swallowed thickly, his heart in his throat as he realised Killian wasn’t wrong:

He was whipped.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give me a shout on [tumblr](http://rachaelkelleher.tumblr.com/), [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/WoodlandGoddess1), or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/pocket_scribbles/).


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